


Too Much Champagne

by Kate_Christie



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25699363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Christie/pseuds/Kate_Christie
Summary: "Who knew the Queen of England still held formal balls? And who knew she had a soft spot for the story of Voyager?" A quick one-shot based on a gorgeous piece of art by Mia Cooper, of our favorite command duo in formal attire. J/C, one-shot, complete.
Relationships: Chakotay & Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay/Seven of Nine
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	Too Much Champagne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiaCooper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Too Much Champagne](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/661066) by Mia Cooper. 



Ridiculous. 

There was no other word to adequately describe the enormous, flouncy, sapphire-toned, satin ball gown laid out across the bed in Kathryn Janeway’s suite of rooms. 

Well, maybe extravagant would have been more accurate. Queen Victoria might have called it gauche.

Any of those adjectives would have applied equally well to the event for which the dress was intended. 

Who knew the Queen of England still held formal balls? And who knew she had a soft spot for the story of Voyager? Or as her calligraphed invitation had read, “A ship meant for scientific exploration lost far from home, now triumphantly returned.”

And now she had to get into this… ballgown… and traipse around this palace with her senior staff. Someone had mentioned a curtsy, but her youth spent wearing tutus and pointe shoes meant at least she had that arcane custom covered.

As she contemplated the small box embossed in gold script sitting beside the gown, she wondered if it contained shoes or jewelry. Lifting the lid, she rolled her eyes almost to the point of spraining,

Lingerie.

# * # * # * #

Raising her glass for what might be the hundredth time, she smiled at the latest toasting dignitary and sipped what her buzzing brain told her must be real champagne. When yet another person at the head table rose to speak, this one with impressive whiskers, she flashed to a memory of Neelix leading their little family in just such a toast. 

He would have been in his glory tonight, shaking hands with the most dignified of dignitaries, beside himself over the culinary intricacy of their six-course dinner. Thinking of him, she had tasted at least a bite of everything, and enjoyed it as much as one could while wearing a skin-tight silk bodice on loan from one of the premiere fashion houses of London.

Above all, though, Neelix would have been enamored with the rituals and protocol surrounding an audience with British royalty. Not that Janeway hadn’t enjoyed her conversation with the Queen. Though now primarily a figurehead and cultural touchstone for what had once been the United Kingdom, Anne had chosen to pursue science before taking on royal life, and by the time she ascended to the throne she held not only degrees in political philosophy and history, but also one in astrophysics. She had posed some surprisingly astute questions about the Borg conduit system that had brought them home.

That line of questioning had made Janeway miss another absent member of her crew. Seven had declined the invitation. Though Chakotay had said nothing else about it, his sullen look through the first half of the evening spoke volumes. This wasn’t the first event she had missed in the weeks since their return.

A round of applause marked the end of the toasts, and a string quartet at the far end of the ballroom began playing Strauss.

“Captain, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the dancefloor?” The Doctor looked striking in his traditional formal attire, and he had apparently expanded his ballroom subroutines for the occasion. 

Lifting her voluminous, ruffled train, and abandoning her champagne, she took his white-gloved hand and was swept out into a dignified, if somewhat whirling, waltz.

# * # * # * #

What seemed like hours later, Janeway stepped out onto the vacant terrace into the chilly night air. The moon hung low over the Thames, round and crisp as it illuminated the intricate spire of Big Ben. 

Goosebumps prickled across her bare shoulders and she wished she hadn’t accepted the heavy, crystal flute of icy-cold champagne as she had left the dancefloor. She sipped it anyway and shivered. Maybe the terrace was empty on a windy January evening for a reason. 

Or was it? 

As her eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, she could make out a motionless outline leaning against the rail, half hidden by a column. She would know that profile anywhere.

“Care for some company? Or am I intruding?” She kept her voice low, in case he hadn’t noticed her yet.

“Your company is always welcome, Kathryn.”

Hearing her name, deep and soft, carried across the terrace on his gentle baritone, set off an ache deep in her chest, tickled memories of other nights when rank had fallen away and left them to be just themselves.

Kathryn crossed the empty space slowly, suddenly in no hurry for this tiny moment to end. In her rational mind, she knew he was with Seven, knew the look in his eyes as he turned and watched her was just the same nostalgia she was feeling, for a time long past when she had thought any return to the Alpha Quadrant might have meant a chance for something more than simple respect and friendship between them.

But as he straightened and turned to face her, drawing up to his full height in the dark suit and white shirt, her stomach flipped, erupting in a swarm of butterflies that hadn’t stirred in months. Maybe years.

Chakotay smiled, and a whole new crop of goosebumps bloomed.

“You must be freezing.” He shrugged out of his jacket. “Here.” 

Sandalwood wafted to her nose from inside the lining of the coat as he slid it over her shoulders. 

“Thank you. I was warm after so much dancing, but London weather has taken care of that.”

“You seem to know your way around more than one kind of dance floor—the Dying Swan and ballroom.” His quirked eyebrow teased in the best way, like so many dry comments passed from his chair to hers on their bridge. 

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Just the opposite. I think the crew developed a whole new level of respect for you that night. Besides, not every Starfleet captain could pull off a tutu.”

“I might prefer one to this—” she plucked at a flounce of her skirt, “—whatever-it-is. A bit too overdone. I’ve always been a fan of the classics. A bit more Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronte, a bit less—“

“I believe they call it ‘couture.’ And for what it’s worth, I think you look beautiful tonight.”

Warmth flooded her cheeks, and she took a long drink to finish her champagne, directing her gaze out over the garden, and setting the empty glass on the ledge.

Silence stretched from seconds to minutes, punctuated by the thud of her heart as she tried to tamp down the rush of long-abandoned feelings rising up inside her. He leaned against the railing again, resuming his pose from when she had found him here alone.

“We broke it off.” Chakotay’s eyes were on the moon as he spoke, the words so soft they could have been spoken to himself.

“What?” She turned to face him, needing to see his expression to be sure she understood.

“Seven. We aren’t… together… anymore. It didn’t work. We didn’t work. We ended it last week.” He hung his head then, looking at his clasped hands.

“I’m sorry.” Those words burned like acid in her throat, but they were necessary, much more so than the uncharitable comments running through her mind.

“I’m not.” He turned his head then, looked her straight in the eye. “It never should have happened in the first place, Kathryn.”

All she could do was blink dumbly as the exact phrase she had been thinking now hung in the air between them. His voice remained even, but took on an edge of frustration.

“The person I want to be with, the one I’ve always wanted to be with, is standing right beside me, and always has been.” 

Kathryn heard the words, but what she took to heart was what he left unsaid. Her anger and disappointment toward him dissolved into self-reproach.

“But always at arms length. It’s okay, I don’t blame you for needing more than I could give you.” She shifted her weight from one high-heeled foot to the other, stopped herself before she could plant one fist on her hip. He was a human being, after all, and it wasn’t his fault that for seven years she couldn’t let herself be one as well. She just wished it hadn’t been Seven of Nine he’d ended up with.

Chakotay stood and turned to face her again, cupped her elbows in his palms. If he had been anyone else, the darkness in his eyes as he loomed over her might have been frightening.

“I blame myself. I should have waited.” His fingertips gripped her arms, as though at any moment he might drag her to him, or push her away.

“But would we even have gotten home if you had?” Temporal paradoxes always gave her a headache, but she had thought more than once in the past few weeks that without his relationship with Seven, her older self would never have had a reason to come back in time and send them home. 

His eyes softened, as did his grip on her arms, before he spoke again, this time without the edge to his voice.

“I guess the real question is, now that we’re here, can we forgive each other—forgive ourselves—enough to find out what happens when there is nothing and no one left in the way?”

Stepping in, she pressed her lips to his before she could change her mind. Cool softness morphed into desperate heat as he took her in his arms and kissed her back. Lips and tongue and roving hands left her breathless and off balance when they finally parted, both silent as they studied one another in the moonlight. 

“I think I have my answer.” He still sounded a little dazed, but one corner of his mouth curled up in a smug little grin.

“Actually, I have another question for you.” She pressed her palm over his heart and smiled, dropping her voice low to whisper against his ear. “Protocol dictates we should say a formal ‘goodnight’ and thank our hosts. Think anyone will miss us if we slip out the back stairs instead?”

Gripping her hand in his, he tugged her along with him toward the side door.

“No offense to Her Royal Highness, but at this moment I couldn’t care less about protocol.”

Her smile grew impossibly wider at the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“For once, Chakotay, neither could I.” 

As they slid through the heavy, wooden door and started down the curtained corridor, Kathryn pulled him to a stop.

“Sorry, ridiculous dress.” She reached down and hiked up the yards of fabric making up her train and slung it across her forearm.

When she shifted her focus from the offending garment back to his face, she found his gaze scanning up from the pale flash of stocking-clad leg peeking out beneath her skirt, along the curve of her hip, hanging for a moment at the flushed swell of her breasts, and finally landing once more on her face. From his vantage point, he likely had a view of the black lace bustier she had found in the little, gold-embossed box. This time, the darkness she found in his eyes was nothing less than desire. Leaning in, his voice husked deep against her ear. 

“That dress may be ridiculous, but I’ll bet we’re going to have a whole lot of fun taking it off.”

# * # * # * #

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks to the brilliant mia-cooper for her gorgeous artwork and prompt that inspired me to write a tiny bit more J/C. Hope you don’t mind that I wrote a preamble. 😉Thanks to Alex, Dia and Angie for beta.


End file.
